


Take You There

by achray



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: (sort of), (very light), F/M, Light BDSM, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sub Eliot Waugh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 10:49:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18342143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achray/pseuds/achray
Summary: “Umm, I don’t, I’m not very – into – ” Quentin couldn’t think of the right word. Kink? Sado-masochism? Sex games? Kinky sadomasochistic sex games?“Q,” said Margo. She put a hand on her hip. “Really? Let’s be clear: you’re not into it, or you have no fucking idea what you’re into because no-one ever bothered to find out?"Or: Margo takes care of Eliot. Quentin watches.





	Take You There

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was planning a 'sexual hijinks in Fillory' fic, which is a compulsory genre in this fandom (right??). In this fic, there was a set-up in which Quentin would find himself, essentially, employed by Eliot and Margo as a 'favourite' (*cough* by which I mean, sexual favours). But then, these plans were pretty much jossed by S4, plus I had zero plot other than the set-up. This is an out-take from that imaginary fic. Loosely in a different post-S3 space.
> 
> It is also sponsored by [this outstanding meta post](https://greywash.dreamwidth.org/75052.html#cutid1) by [greywash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greywash/pseuds/greywash), in which she argues highly convincingly that Quentin is canonically, quote, 'wildly submissive', I note in a comment that Eliot doesn't seem averse to being bossed around either; and she rightly observes that Margo bossing Eliot around is part of, I quote again, 'the enduring sexual gloss of their friendship.'
> 
> This is a response to that post and these comments. Title is, _of course_ , from Madonna's 'Like a Prayer'.

Quentin was in a quiet corner of the stairwell in the East Tower, where the sun warmed the stone, there was a window-seat big enough to curl up on, and a view of the ocean. He’d intended to write a long old-fashioned letter to Julia, but was mostly staring out at the view as the sun finally set, and doodling patterns on the paper.

He heard the messenger before he saw him, panting up the stairs. It was one of the younger palace guards, a junior Pickwick, he thought, though he’d lost track long ago of Tick’s sisters and his cousins and his aunts.

“Oh, sir,” he said. “The High King – the Kings – they wanted you, we’ve been looking all over.”

“OK,” said Quentin. He slid off the seat and stretched. “What’s up?”

The guard looked distinctly shifty – and was he blushing?

“They, umm, require your presence,” he said. “King Margo said, umm, pronto, in her bedroom, and it was an order.”

“Ah,” said Quentin. He smiled at the guard, which caused him to go bright red under his freckles and scuttle off down the stairs. Quentin raised his eyebrows.

He didn’t rush to Margo’s room. He was expecting to find Eliot and Margo lounging around, bored and requiring entertainment, sexual or otherwise, and while he wasn’t going to say no, obviously, they shouldn’t think that they could just – summon him and he would show up on demand. He could have been _busy_. With – all the duties attendant on being, effectively, at that precise moment, the sole member of Eliot and Margo’s harem. Like, filing his nails or something. Practicing on the lute. Flicking through a little book of sex tips.

Quentin knocked on Margo’s door and then went straight in without waiting for a reply. Then he stopped dead.

“Quentin,” said Margo. “You’re late. So we started without you.”

Quentin shut the door behind him hastily and leaned against it. He looked properly, blinking.

Margo was wearing an elaborate Fillorian corset, her heels, and nothing else. Except a – thing. A harness, the part of Quentin’s brain that had watched a great deal of porn supplied. And a dildo. Possibly leather. He’d never actually seen this set-up live, so to speak. Also, she was holding something that might be a riding crop.

Eliot was kneeling on the floor. He was blindfolded, and his hands were tied behind his back. He was also naked, and very hard. His mouth was red.

Quentin swallowed and stayed leaning against the door. He could feel himself blushing and starting to sweat: there was a fire lit despite the mild summer night outside, and it was almost too hot in the room. If you were _wearing clothes_ , that was.

“I think I saw this film when I was sixteen,” he said, trying to sound blasé and failing utterly, since the words came out in a kind of croak.

Margo cocked her head and smiled at him, in a truly terrifying way.

“Interesting,” she said. “You didn’t tell him, did you, Eliot? No, don’t answer, you know you’re not allowed to speak.”

“Tell me what?” said Quentin, warily.

“Eliot’s very good at taking care of others,” said Margo. “But sometimes – ” she shrugged, “he needs someone to take care of him. So occasionally I oblige, when I’m asked _very_ fucking nicely.” She slid the riding crop down the side of Eliot’s neck, over the places Quentin knew for himself were sensitive, and down to flick over one of his nipples. Eliot made a soft noise. He was visibly breathing hard.

Quentin swallowed. He crossed his arms.

“Maybe I should, umm…leave you to it,” he said.

Margo smirked. “Oh, I don’t think so, sunshine,” she said. “You’re going to watch me fucking your boyfriend and see how much he loves it. And if he’s _very_ good, I might let him suck your cock. After he sucks mine, that is.”

“Umm, I don’t, I’m not very – into – ” Quentin couldn’t think of the right word. Kink? Sado-masochism? Sex games? Kinky sadomasochistic sex games?

“Q,” said Margo. She put a hand on her hip. “Really? Let’s be clear: you’re not into it, or you have no fucking idea what you’re into because no-one ever bothered to find out? I thought your eyes were _literally_ going to pop out and roll round the room when you walked in, and _don’t_ even try to tell me you’re not hard right now. Or are you having an aneurysm because your vision of sweet submissive love-making with your big strong boyfriend is shattered?”

“No,” said Quentin, with some force. “God, It’s not – you’re both like, like something out of a fucking fantasy, I mean _look at you_ – I just. Don’t know what, umm.”

“Oh, sweetie,” said Margo. “No-one’s asking you to _do_ anything. Just watch and learn.” She turned to Eliot, whose lips were curled, wry. He was managing to make what was surely a pretty uncomfortable position look perfectly poised, even relaxed. “And do whatever the fuck you like, but don’t come, OK?”

“Oh my God,” said Quentin. He let himself slide down the door until he was sitting at its base: his legs had gone wobbly. He was still holding the unfinished letter to Julia and a pen; he set them carefully down to the side. 

Margo stroked over Eliot’s lips with her thumb, and his mouth came open.

“Good,” said Margo. “Tell me you want it. So that Q can hear.”

Eliot took in a sharp breath. “Yes,” he said, low. “Please.”

“Good boy,” said Margo.  “Oh, I am _enjoying_ myself. These fucking – artisanal handmade sex toys have some real advantages. Mmmm.” She tossed the riding crop onto the bed behind her and caressed her cock, biting her lip.

Quentin was – very hot. He kicked off his shoes, slid his tunic off his shoulders, as unobtrusively as he could, and loosened the drawstring on his pants.

Margo took – or really, grabbed – a handful of Eliot’s hair, and guided the – her – cock, into his mouth. It wasn’t giant or anything, but it wasn’t small, either. Quentin knew what that felt like, Eliot’s mouth on him, though he would never have asked Eliot for this. Eliot seemed really into it, though: he was showing off, Quentin could tell, taking it as deep as he could, leaving it glistening, letting Margo pull his hair and move him, roughly.

Quentin shuddered, palming himself. If he started to touch himself properly, watching this, it would last about thirty seconds, and Margo had sounded very definitive. As he thought this, she glanced over at him, as though reading his mind, smiled, and then bent to say something in Eliot’s ear, low. Eliot made a sound that Quentin could hear even from across the room.

Margo pulled out of Eliot’s mouth, and he subsided back on his heels, breathing in pants. Quentin looked at Margo’s cock, wet and shining.

“My eyes are up here,” she said, and as Quentin jerked his gaze up to hers, she turned to Eliot, stroking back his hair.

“Quentin can’t take his eyes off my cock,” she said to Eliot. “I wonder if he wants it as much as you do?”

Eliot took in a deep breath, and let it out. His cheeks were very flushed. 

“You can ask,” said Margo. “Unless you want me to draw this out until you beg?”

Eliot licked his lips. “I want you to fuck me,” he said. He sounded hoarse.

“With Q watching,” said Margo.

“Oh, fuck,” said Eliot. “Yes.”

“Hmm, not very _polite_ , but it’ll do,” said Margo. “Up, then.”

She took Eliot’s arm and he unfolded himself, a little awkwardly. Margo ran her hands up his chest, stopping to toy with his nipples. Eliot made a ragged sound, his hands flexing behind him, and his hips moved. Quentin looked at Eliot’s cock, and couldn’t help touching himself, a bit. He saw Eliot naked all the time, but if Eliot had been able to see him staring at his cock like this, Quentin would have been weirdly embarrassed, and Eliot would have teased him about it for weeks. It seemed a bit pointless, at this stage, to worry about being embarrassed in front of Margo.

“Where do I want you?” said Margo. She looked around the room. “Desk. I can fuck you on the border reports from Loria. That way you can think of my screwing you as sweet revenge for your ex trying to screw us on the customs rates.”

Eliot’s mouth twitched: Quentin could almost see him biting back a response. The strangest thing in the whole situation wasn’t the set-up, which Quentin could perhaps have predicted if he’d ever really _thought_ about it, it was that Eliot was being _quiet_.

“Move,” said Margo. She took Eliot’s arm again, and walked him over to the desk, which was on the other side of the fireplace, a little further away from Quentin. Then she pushed at the flat of his back and he went with it, bending over, letting Margo arrange him to her liking. Quentin had to work to keep himself silent. There was something about Eliot’s willing helplessness, his obedience, that he would never have thought would be a turn-on, but that was desperately hot.

Margo looked over at Quentin, studying him a moment. Quentin blinked back at her. She opened one of the desk drawers, took out a bottle of something, and unscrewed it, tipping some into her hand. Oil of some sort, Quentin thought. She ran a hand up her cock, and Quentin could just see the leather darken, gleaming. Margo’s hand was moving on herself, her breath coming quicker, head tipped back a little.

“OK,” she said, slightly breathless. “Let’s get this show on the road.” She glanced at Quentin. “You, know, Eliot got himself ready for me while you were off writing fucking love-poetry or whatever. He was _waiting_ for me like this.” She stroked down his back, and Quentin thought he could see Eliot shiver. “Except the hands, I did those.” She ran her fingers over Eliot’s wrists. “He was already wet when I arrived – weren’t you? But don’t worry, I’ll check.”

She picked up the small bottle, and tipped oil onto her fingers. Quentin could see it dripping onto the floor. She slid a hand down Eliot’s spine, leaving a trail, and then lower. Quentin couldn’t see exactly what she was doing, from his angle. Eliot moaned, his hips shifting, trying to push back.

Quentin knew how much Eliot loved this: he’d learned himself, slowly, over a long time and with a considerable amount of awkwardness, how much Eliot liked Quentin’s fingers inside him, how to follow Eliot’s instructions until Eliot stopped being able to give instructions, lost in it. By the looks of things, and by the sounds Eliot was making, Margo was very good at this. Quentin might even have felt slightly jealous, if he hadn’t been about to combust.

“Please,” said Eliot, suddenly. “God, I can’t – Please, Margo.”

“If we were doing this properly, I’d either punish you for that or keep this up for hours,” said Margo. Quentin saw her wrist move, and Eliot cried out.

“Now you mention it, though, I want to come myself,” she said. “You already know this, but for the benefit of our audience, I’m going to need to fuck you hard and fast, OK?”

“Do it,” said Eliot, sounding ragged.

Margo bent over him, bracing herself with a hand on his back. Quentin could see her hand on her cock, guiding it in, her hips moving forward, pressing against Eliot. Eliot made a choked-off sound, and then groaned and Margo pulled out, and slid in again.

Quentin thunked his head back against the door and shut his eyes for moment, trying to stop touching himself, but he could still _hear_. He gave up, opened his eyes and looked. He still couldn’t quite believe that this was happening right in front of him. He’d sometimes – especially with Alice, his only real long-term girlfriend – thought about this, about asking for it. But he’d never had the nerve, and he hadn’t been entirely sure if he’d like it or if it would end in some kind of horrible shameful disaster.

Eliot certainly seemed to like it. Margo had picked up the pace, and was fucking him hard – much harder than Quentin would usually have dared. He was making raw, breathless noises. He had no leverage, with his hands tied, he was having to, to take it, Quentin thought. He didn’t seem to be objecting.

Margo caught her breath. “Oh fuck,” she said, her hips thrusting faster. “Fuck, that’s good, that’s – ”

She gripped the edge of the desk, head bent and hair falling over her face, and Quentin saw her shudder, her rhythm stuttering. “Ah,” she said. “Fuck me.” She started moving again, slowly.

“I don’t need to stop,” she said, to Eliot. “But you seem pretty desperate. So.” She pulled Eliot’s hips back, stopping moving, and then reached round. Quentin tried to shift so that he could see, though he could imagine well enough, and from the sound Eliot made, it was clear when Margo touched him. Her shoulder was moving, and her hips thrust a little, in time.

“Come on, baby,” she said. “I’ve got you.”

Eliot cried out again, and Quentin pulled his hand away from his own cock quickly, or he would have come himself. Even from where he was he could see Eliot shaking. He wished he could have seen him come. If he had had the nerve to ask, maybe he could have been touching Eliot while Margo fucked him. Maybe he could have used his mouth on Eliot, while Margo – Quentin pushed that thought away for later consideration, since it seemed dangerous to consider now.

“That’s it,” said Margo, softer. “Very good. Better?”

Eliot seemed to be trying to get his breathing under control. Margo was stroking his back. “God,” he said, eventually. “Yes.”

“Good,” said Margo. “I’m pulling out now, OK?”

Eliot moaned as she did, and Margo made a sound, too. She stood back, swaying a little, running a hand over herself. “Sensitive,” she said, through her teeth. Then she looked back at Quentin, her eyes narrowed.

“You haven’t come, have you?”

Quentin cleared his throat before he could speak. “No,” he said.

Margo raised an eyebrow. “I could go again,” she said, and Quentin involuntarily looked at her hand on her cock, swallowing. “It’s tempting. But I did promise Eliot. And besides, it’ll give you something to look forward to.”

She turned away and helped Eliot to stand up, pulling at his wrists. Eliot staggered a little, unsteady, and Margo put a supporting arm round his waist.

“Up, Quentin,” she said.

Quentin pushed himself up, with some difficulty. He felt wired all through, jolting with it. He was so hard that it hurt.

“Strip,” said Margo.

Quentin didn’t hesitate. He pulled his shirt over his head, clumsily, and let his trousers fall, kicking them off. Margo looked him over, in a thoughtful way, and he tried to stand up straight, self-conscious, though he very much wanted to cross his arms.

“Sit on the bed,” she said, gesturing.

Quentin did exactly as he was told. Margo took Eliot’s arm and led him over, pulling him down to kneel between Quentin’s thighs. His nipples were very red, and his cheeks, when Quentin touched one, were damp. His right cheek was marked with lines and creases, where it had pressed into wood and paper; Quentin traced them with a finger. Eliot bent and kissed the inside of one of Quentin’s thighs and he shivered. It didn’t look as though Eliot could see anything at all, through the blindfold, it was on very tightly.

He wasn’t sure what the rules were. “Can I…kiss him?” he said to Margo, looking over at her.

She shrugged. “Be my guest.”

Quentin bent down, put a hand on the side of Eliot’s face to tilt his head up, and kissed him. Eliot moved with him willingly, opening his mouth, leaning into it. It was strange to kiss Eliot this deeply without Eliot’s hand on his neck, in his hair; with their mouths as the only anchoring point. Quentin broke off, gasping, and Eliot swayed back a little. He was half-smiling.

“Very fucking sweet,” said Margo. “Now get on with it, Eliot.”

She moved back to lean against the desk, watching, and stroking her cock.

It was a little clumsy, with Eliot unable to use his hands, to see what he was doing. Quentin put a hand in his hair to guide him, gently, and Eliot kissed up his thigh, cheek brushing against Quentin’s cock, and then moved back a little so that his mouth closed on it. Quentin shuddered all over. Eliot made a pleased noise and swirled his tongue in the way that he knew Quentin liked; over and over, perfect; and Quentin moaned: he couldn’t remember ever being this wound up, this was going to last about twenty seconds, but he was past caring whether Margo might laugh at him afterwards.

“ _Very_ good,” said Margo. “What do you think Q’s thinking about right now, Eliot? Is he thinking about how hot it is for you to be the one on your knees? Or, is he thinking about what it will be like when we put him in your place?”

Eliot groaned around Quentin’s cock, and Quentin gave up on trying to be careful and gentle and clutched Eliot’s hair hard, thrusting helplessly; and Eliot went with it with enthusiasm, as he had with Margo. Eliot  _wanted_ it, Eliot had _loved_ all this – oh God, Quentin did want it too, he would let Margo fuck him while Eliot watched, he would try whatever she wanted, whatever _they_ wanted….he shut his eyes tight and his thoughts splintered into sparks as he pictured it, shaking into pieces under Eliot’s clever mouth, and Margo’s knowing eyes.

When he came back to himself, Eliot was resting his head on Quentin’s thigh, Quentin’s fingers still tangled in his hair. Quentin moved him back a bit, and Eliot smiled.

“You can take the blindfold off, if you can manage the knot,” said Margo. “He likes it tight.”

Quentin, still dazed, fumbled at the back of Eliot’s head, trying and failing.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said Margo, coming over to help.

Some time in there while Quentin had been losing his mind, she’d unbuckled or untied her own cock and set it on the table in a tangle of straps, and kicked off her heels. Even though Quentin had just come about a minute ago, his mouth came open a little at the sight of her, so close to him. She knelt down behind Eliot, untied the blindfold with ruthless efficiency in about five seconds, and then the knot at his wrists.

Eliot sat back, leaning into Margo, rubbing his wrists. His eyeliner was smudged. He met Quentin’s eyes.

“I take it he liked it,” he said. His voice was rough.

Margo laughed. “He fucking _loved_ it,” she said. “Oh, you should have seen the look on his little face.”

“Mmm, I wish,” said Eliot, looking Quentin over. Quentin felt himself starting to blush again, which was ridiculous.

Eliot stood up, using Quentin’s knee as leverage, and Margo stood with him. He turned to her.

“Come here,” he said. Margo wrapped her arms around him, and Eliot held her, dropping his face into her hair. He drew back and touched her face, gently, and then bent to kiss her, not so gently.

“Thank you,” he said. “Can I – we – do anything for you?”

“I’m good for now,” said Margo. “That thing” – she gestured towards the desk, “is a work of fucking genius. They may not have reached the age of steam yet, but A fucking plus to Fillory on the sex toys; if we market these on Earth our finances will be golden. I haven’t come that hard since the last time we used it.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Eliot, smiling at her fondly.

“I might fuck Q in a bit, though, if you don’t mind,” Margo said, thoughtfully. “He’s been staring at me like I’m fucking Xena, goddess of whatever, and I might want some of that worship on my clit in, say, an hour or so.”

“Not a problem,” said Eliot. “As long as I can watch this time.”

“I’m _right here_ ,” said Quentin. Which was a mistake, since they bothturned to survey him.

“Were you planning to _object_?” said Margo.

Quentin opened and closed his mouth.

“Have pity,” said Eliot. He yawned, suddenly. “Fuck, I’m wrecked. Get under the sheet, Q – unless you need help with the laces?” He stroked down the front of Margo’s corset.

“I’ve got it,” said Margo. She started unlacing, expertly. Eliot climbed onto the bed, pulling Quentin with him, got them under the sheets, and promptly wrapped himself round him. Margo slid into the bed on Eliot’s other side, holding him.

“You still feel a little tense,” said Eliot, to Quentin, sleepily, after a few minutes.

“No, it’s just – ” said Quentin. “Do you guys do this, like, all the time? Like, when we were at Brakebills?”

“Now and then,” said Margo. “When the spirit moves us.”

Eliot tightened his arms round Quentin. “When I ask her, she means. Which isn’t all that often. I’ll tell you the story of how it all began some other time. Does this – bother you?”

Quentin thought about it for a few moments. “I guess I feel – bad? That I didn’t know. That I’ve never – that you never asked me, or told me. All through the time when we were, you know. If it was something you wanted, you needed, and you never said…”

Eliot sighed, and kissed the back of his neck.

“Don’t be offended,” he said. “This is kind of an exclusively – me-and-Margo thing. It’s – it _was_ – private. I’ll always keep our secrets. And when you and I were in Fillory, for years we thought we’d be back home the next day, you know that. And you know how much I missed Margo. This was – a really fucking small part of that.”

“Touching,” said Margo, dry. “But yeah. He doesn’t do this with anyone else, Q. I would know. Not to say that _I_ haven’t done it with other guys….”

“If you fucked Todd _or_ Josh with that cock we’re burning it,” said Eliot.

“Of course not, baby,” said Margo. “That one’s exclusive. Unless we decide to share with Quentin.”

“What do you think?” said Eliot to Quentin. “I have the impression you’re – interested.”

Quentin shifted in Eliot’s arms. “Umm. Maybe?” he said.

“Liar,” said Margo. “Fifty dollars says you’re knocking at my door and begging me within two weeks.”

“I’m not taking that bet,” said Eliot.

“Oh, come on,” said Quentin. “Seriously, you – ”

“Fifty dollars,” said Margo. “Are you going to take me up on it, Q?”

Quentin took a deep breath, ready for his next round of protests. Then he paused. If this was something _he_ wanted – something he was being offered, an unexpected gift – then why shouldn’t he accept?

 “Fine,” he said. “You win. No.”

“I’ve got such plans,” said Eliot, yawning. “We didn’t even use magic this time. Oh, the possibilities. This was pretty mild, you know: we didn’t want to scare you off. You should see what else Margo has in her secret box of sex toys.”

Quentin set that aside to think about, extensively, another time, when he wasn’t feeling quite so warm and postcoital.

“I’m supporting local enterprise,” said Margo. “And I’ll be doing the fucking planning here, pun intended. Right after Fen and I get back from those trade talks. Q – both of you – will just have to wait and see.”

Eliot stretched, and turned around enough to kiss Margo. Then he bit Quentin’s shoulder. “We can, umm, practice while she’s away,” he said, sliding a hand down Quentin’s side. “You’re going to love it all. I can tell. Margo’s the best.”

“And don’t either of you forget it,” Margo said.


End file.
